Tate sighed then said, “Yeah.”
“Holy cow,” Carrie breathed.
Mack seemed not to hear Carrie, put a big hand on Tate’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Bad shit, man. Remember it. Saw the game. Sucked.”
“Long time ago,” Tate muttered as Mack’s hand dropped.
“What sucked?” I asked and Tate’s eyes came to me but Mack spoke.
“End of his second game, pro ball, he got crushed after recovering a fumble he forced and ran back for a TD, got nailed in the endzone, late hit. Guy blew out his knee.”
“Pro ball?” I whispered.
“Long time ago,” Tate repeated.
“Pro ball?” I repeated back.
Tate turned to me. “Ace –”
I interrupted him. “You played professional football?”
“For two games,” Tate replied.
I was unable to process this therefore kept repeating myself. “You played professional football?”
Tate’s hand came to my waist and slid around to my back, guiding me closer to him as he did. “For two games a long time ago,” he repeated quietly.
I was thinking I really did not know Tatum Jackson when I focused on his face and it hit my fogged brain I knew one thing about him. That one thing was how to read his face and his face said he didn’t want to talk about this.
Then again, you’re a first round draft pick professional football player and your career is cut way short when some guy blows out your knee, you end up back in a nowhere town like Carnal working in a bar part-time, as a bounty hunter the rest of it, that wasn’t a particular glory day you wished to spend a great deal of time reflecting upon.
I got closer and pressed my front to the side to Tate’s long body.
Then I looked at Caroline and Mack and declared on a total lie, “I’m starved.”
* * * * *
I was sitting cross-legged on the bed in our hotel room wearing one of my new pairs of pajamas. Little peach, knit short shorts and a matching, tight, shelf-bra cami. The neckline of the cami had the same color lace threaded through with a thin, darker peach satin ribbon that tied in a tiny, little bow at my cle**age.
I was also staring at my cell phone that Tate had given me before going into the bathroom. I’d totally forgotten about it. He’d had it all this time, turning it off to get on the plane and I’d just turned it back on for the first time since yesterday.
It was after we had lunch at The Station where Carrie and Mack spent some of the time happily reliving Tate getting in Brad’s face yesterday, some of it interrogating us about the incident that morning and then the rest of it regaling Tate with all the reasons Brad was an ass**le. It was after Tate (and the rest of us) shared a beer with John Fink, Officer Marty Fink’s father and a man who seriously liked his Nittany Lions football but seemed to like Tate even better. It was after we went back to the hospital and got second ten minute visits while Dad was awake and could talk a bit but was still scary weak. It was after we went out to dinner with Mom and Norma where this time Mom and Norma got in a fight with each other as to who would pay and, as they did, Mack excused himself on the fake errand of going to the bathroom and paid while they weren’t paying attention which meant, when they found out, both Mom and Norma busted his balls while Caroline and I rolled our eyes at each other and Tate grinned. It was after Norma went home and after we got to the hotel. It was after Mom went to her room to hit the hay and catch up on sleep seeing as they told her they were moving Dad out of ICU tomorrow and it was all looking good. Not to mention, she was consistently tussling with the men in her daughters’ lives about who was going to pay for what and she unrepentantly pulled the guilt card by explaining to both Tate and Mack it was flat tuckering her out. And it was after Mack, Carrie, Tate and I had a couple of drinks in the hotel bar.
We’d come up to our room, I’d changed in the bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth and moisturized and, when I walked out, Tate was heading in and he handed me my phone.
“Forgot, babe,” he muttered then went into the bathroom and closed the door.
I sat on the bed and turned on my phone. Then I scrolled through missed calls. Then I froze and stared at my phone.
Tate came out of the bathroom with two buttons of his jeans undone, his belt hanging loose. Before I went into the bathroom, he’d taken off his boots and socks. Now he stood by the built-in luggage rack and lifted his arms, putting his hands between his shoulder blades, and tugged off his shirt.
I stared at the eagle. He dropped his shirt on the bag and turned.
“I got a bunch of calls,” I informed him as he walked to me.
He stopped at the foot of the bed and leaned down, placing one fist on either side of my h*ps and also his face within two inches of mine.
“Yeah?” he asked quietly.
I ignored his face being that close, his lips being that close and his chest being bare (and that close).
“Two from Wendy, two from Betty, one from Sunny, one from Krys and…” my voice dropped to a whisper and I swallowed before finishing, “five from Wood.”
Instantly Tate straightened and slid the phone from my fingers. Surprised at his quick movements, mutely I watched as his thumb slid across the screen then he put the phone to his ear. Still silent I watched as he stood there with a fist to his hip and waited.
Then he said, “No. Jackson.” Pause then, “Yeah, I’m on her phone. I’m also in a hotel room in Indy with her sittin’ on the bed and I’m callin’ you on her phone. You get why that is?” I blinked and started to come unstuck, mainly because Tate’s aggressive tone was penetrating the exhausted, confused at life, freaked out haze that had enshrouded me. “No,” I heard Tate say, “you can’t talk to her but you can listen to me. That shit you pulled while I was away, not… fuckin’… cool. We got a problem. We had a worse problem yesterday but lucky for you, since then, I’ve had her, she’s moaned sweet for me three times so I’m feelin’ in a better mood.”
At these words, the haze disintegrated, I came fully alert and I launched myself from the bed at him, exclaiming, “Tate!”
He caught me on the fly with an arm around my waist and held my front tight against his side, leaning his torso and head back to escape me reaching out to the phone, something he could do with his height which ticked me right off.
“Oh yeah, Wood, when I get back, we’re havin’ words and you better f**kin’ believe it’s gonna be face-to-face,” Tate growled, pulled the phone from his ear, hit a button with his thumb and tossed it on the bed.